DoubleTake
by LunalitSol
Summary: What happens when none of what happened...happens? Troy wakes up from the dream of our HSM saga at the very beginning of the first movie mystified. Because Troy Bolton does not want to be in a musical or anything else he saw. Is it possible to stop fate?


Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, nor do I own the lyrics below or some of the dialogue included (I had to watch the basketball scene with subtitles like fifty times...no joke). Anyone who wants to not pay attention and sue me for this...Go ahead. I dare you._ *grins ominously*_ ONWARDS!

**Double-take**

Chapter one: The Table is Turned

'_High School Musical, Who Says We Have To Let It Go?_

_It's The Best Part We've Ever Known,Step Into The Future! _

_We'll Hold On to, High School Musical,_

_ Lets Celebrate Where We Come From,_

_ With Friends Who've been There All Along, _

_Just Like, High School Musical!' _

A shrill beeping erupted into the silent room and Troy Bolton jerked awake, a hand raising automatically to rub the sleep from his eyes.

"Morning already?" he groaned, turning over and pulling the blanket over himself. And that dream…what the hell was that? Him…doing musicals? That had to be the _dumbest _thing in the universe…And that girl….gorgeous, but so not his type…Besides he had Amy, right…but that girl…what was her name?…G-…Gabriella?…

He heard the sound of a throat clearing and raised his head once more, gazing blearily at his mom's "stern" face.

"Troy, it's time to get up," she sighed, shuffling over to his bed and sitting softly beside him, one hand going automatically to smooth down his hair. He shook his head against his pillow, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Can't be morning yet," he mumbled.

Another sigh. She did that a lot these days.

"It's past noon."

This caused him to open one eye, shifting the comforter half-way from his face.

"It is?" he asked after a moment.

She nodded slowly, a fond smile quirking at the edges of her pursed lips and he yawned hugely, beginning to move his arms, letting his joints creak into action. Troy slowly pulled himself upright, gazing around the room. His eyes fell on his swimming trunks, red with blue drawstring, and beamed. The hotel they were staying at was supposed to have a heated indoor pool….

"Is dad up?"

His mom nodded, turning her own gaze to find the object of his interest. She shook her head, making that peculiar sound of half motherly cluck, half amused, expectant laugh, and ruffled his hair, standing.

"I'll tell him to meet you in the pool in ten minutes."

The water was a soothing tepid as he stepped into in, water splashing up to slap his ankles. He smirked and stepped out, casting a mischievous glance at the lifeguard, a hot chick with long white-blonde hair, slender, tanned legs and green eyes narrowed in suspicion. He flashed her his pearliest grin, subtly flexing his growing six-pack (oh, yes, he was growing a six pack no matter what Chad said), and loping over to the slippery edge of the six feet. He cast another surreptitious glance behind himself, amused at the lifeguard's attempt to hide her obviously growing interest in him, and then jumped, beaming, into the water.

It was definitely colder in the deeper water than he'd anticipated, Troy thought, wincing inwardly as he rose, breaking the surface of the water and shaking his hair out like a dog. He heard a snort somewhere behind him and turned to find his dad shaking his head, mirth plain on his face. In the background the pretty girl was rolling her eyes and yawning, fingers twitching to open a magazine perched on her lap and stare raptly at its contents, obviously already bored with the show being put on before her.

His dad splashed him and he laughed, ducking down and sending his own wave at the older man, grinning despite himself. Troy's dad laughed as well, before gesturing to the lanes just a couple feet away.

"Go swim some laps, bud," he chortled. "I'll join you."

"Make it a race?" Troy asked, already beginning to wade forwards.

The elder Bolton smirked, following him.

"You're on."

The hours paced in a whirl of lost contests and bets, toweled hair, clinking silverware, and his mom's exasperated sighs when they left dinner and immediately begged their way into going to the gym (the slopes were off limits after yesterday's fiasco).

Thudding of rubber resounded through the room. Shoes squeaked, breaths were hard, hurled outward, sweat dripped and clothes whipped through the air, following relentless, rejuvenating movement. _Dribble, fake left, throw right, catch up, get the rebound, head in the game, head in the game…_

"Keep working left, Troy. Gotta guard in the championship game we're expectin'. You'll torch 'em!"

"Am I goin' left?" Troy asked, looking straight ahead, hair plastered to his forehead, listening to the sound of his dad bouncing around behind him, drawing out a map of potential play…head in the game…

"Yeah. He looks middle, you take it downtown," his dad instructed, Coach now, more than dad.

"Okay, like this?"

He made a quick movement, the ball flying effortlessly from his hands through the hoop. Nothin' but net. He grinned and his dad, dad now more than coach, grinned back.

"Whoo! That's it, man! Sweet…"

Back to coach: "Let's see that in the game."

"I got this game. Don't worry bout me," Troy said at the same time, going to take back the ball.

"Boys?" An annoyed voice rang out. Uh-oh. They must have gone over their time limit…"Did we really fly all this way to play more basketball?" Troy's mom asked, clicking into the room with her head shaking unhappily the way it did when she was fed up with being the only woman of the family, or something like that.

Troy and his dad both turned to stare at her, each sporting near-identical looks akin to that of the much referred "deer in headlights". Then, their expressions relaxed, and they turned to each other, minds meeting, and replied in unison with a resigned "yeah".

Troy's mom sighed.

"It's the last night of vacation." When this received nothing, she spun once, raising her arms out, making the elegance of her emerald dress and silk shawl apparent enough for her oblivious boys to catch on.

"The party? Remember?"

Troy s father reddened slightly, plainly trying to catch up. He did _not_ want to be on the couch tonight.

"Right the party. The party. New Year's Eve," he seemed to brighten marginally, working excitement into his voice towards the end, or some variant of it.

Troy turned away, restraining a laugh.

"Troy, they have a kid's party downstairs in the Freestyle Club," his mom continued, giving him an expectant look.

This caught his attention.

"Kid's party?" Troy asked, annoyed.

"Young adults," his mom interjected appeasingly. "Now go, shower up."

Troy paused, considering, then: "C'mon one more."

His mom took a deep breath, grimacing slightly.

"Last one," Troy assured her, palming the basketball, already tensing for his move.

"Quick. Real quick," his dad added, getting into position.

Without waiting for any real, verbal assent (it wasn't like she could tell them not to anyways), they sprung into action. Troy tore across the small court, basketball falling and rising in practiced motions, and felt his body fall languidly into position. No thinking, head in the game, Troy sprung. Adrenaline coursed from his veins, seeping from the palm of his hands and throwing the ball expertly into action. It tumbled through the air, effortlessly arcing over his father's reaching hands and, only narrowly avoiding the ceiling at its height, fell effortlessly through the basket, net swishing warmly. His dad caught the rebound instinctually and Troy let out a whoop.

"There we go! That's the way to end it."

His dad turned back to him, grinning as well, and his mom shook her head, watching them with a weary, but ever-fond expression.

"Showers," she reminded them. "Now."

Troy tossed his dad the ball, shooting his mom his best "I'm your only darling son. I'm your angel, remember mommy?" look and walking out, back wards, watching her shoulders fall just slightly in resignation, then lift as her arms wrapped around his father, who dipped down to kiss her cheek and murmur something in her ear. She smiled and Troy grinned, turning back around and galloping towards the stairs, which he took two at a time, racing for the room. He arrived mere moments later, only slightly out of breath and slid the key card in, turning into the hotel room. He paid the closing of the door no mind, peeling off his sweaty jersey and throwing it somewhere to the side. His shorts joined it in to time, then white odorous basketball-shoes and wet stinking socks. The last thing to go was his boxers, which he kicked off unabashedly before entering the bathroom, flicking the light switch on first, then the faucet.

The sound of water filled the room and Troy turned to examine his reflection shortly, pulling a few faces out of mild boredom and examining an annoying trail of pimples on the underside of his chin, tucked into the shadows. He shrugged to himself and grabbed a fluffy, cream-colored towel, tossing it onto the toilet seat and stepping into the hot spray of water.

Some fifteen minutes later, Troy emerged into the steamed room, turning off the water and wrapping the towel around his waist. He stepped carefully into the room, picking his way through a few piles of unwashed clothes he'd neglected to pick up, and went to the closet, grabbing the first (and only) decent thing he saw.

Only ten more minutes and he was downstairs, scanning the lodge for the entrance to the Freestyle club. A couple of kids breezed by him, giggling, from around the left corner and he shrugged, going the way they'd come from. He found it at length and stepped into a wide room, dark and light all at once, and roaring with sound. There were people singing some gushy chick-song on a small platform and spotlights, seeming both innocuous and menacing all at once, hovering on either side.

The deja-vu that hit him then was overwhelming and he slowed, remembering for perhaps the third time that day the dream he'd had last night. Somehow it was so much more vivid than any of his other dreams had ever been, so much more real. And weird, too. Troy tensed a bit, arms flexing unintentionally. He could recall glimpses of the dream, a vague outline, scenes came in flashes of expert, almost choreographed, dancing, and spotlights, and nervous voices singing out with just a spark Troy, himself, could scarcely imagine.

The people who had been singing came to a stop and a guy stepped forward, grabbing a microphone.

"All right! How about that for a couple of snowboarders?" he called out enthusiastically.

Several people yelled out and Troy glanced around himself, amused.

"Yeah! Who's gonna rock the house next? Huh?" The spotlights which had stood harmlessly at a standstill before now sprung into action, roving the crowd ominously. One landed on him and he shifted his weight, hands in his pockets, swallowing as the guys next to him broke into laughter and pushed him forward, hands swinging into the air as if to say "I'm unarmed! Now don't make me do this!"

Troy was propelled to the stage as the second spotlight found the other victim, his sense of both dread and excitement increasing exponentially as he found his footing and spotted the person joining him nervously. Holy shit…

"It's you," the girl hissed at the same time as the exact same words left his own mouth. They stared at each other, wide-eyed. The girl (Gabriella, Troy remembered) crossed her arms nervously across her chest, looking down. Troy took a deep breath, trying to figure out what to do.

"Hey, you know what? Someday, someday, you guys might thank me for this."

Troy shifted again, clearing his throat as a microphone was placed into his hand. He stared down at it, mouth clamping. He did _not_ want to sing….

"Or not."

There was a pause before the music began and he heard Gabriella say softly as he squinted uncomfortably at the screen, "You're that guy from my dream. This can't be real. I can't do this…"

He ignored her, the music beginning to play. He sighed. Go with the flow. He would go with the flow.

"_Livin' in my own world Didn't understand," _He looked over at the girl next to him and she looked quickly away, obviously very ill at ease.

"_That anything can happen when you take a chance." _The girl's jaw was clamped shut and she looked like she was about to cry. Troy stared at her, waiting. It was her part. She didn't make a sound, merely stared out at the crowd staring at her, eyes growing wider if at all possible and looking wet.

Another beat. He swallowed. This hadn't happened in the dream.

"What's your problem," He said inconspicuously, speaking from the corner of his mouth. Gabriella turned to Troy, a flash of anger passing over her features, and she looked at the microphone, mouth opening for the first time all night.

"I-I'm sorry. I can't do this," she stammered, a tear falling and sliding down her cheek.

Then, with the music still playing and Troy standing there, frozen in front of his microphone, she leapt from the stage and ran away.

**Okay, so thanks for the read. :) I'm actually pretty into this, so an update may come sooner than is typical for me. A review would be lovely. :) And perhaps reap some..ahem...benefit? You never know *grins***


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